Too Late
by Mary Barrett
Summary: Everyone knows about Sirius's prank involving a werewolf and a heroic James Potter. But what if this time James was too late? Note- Snape is a minor character
1. Chapter 1

"He. Did. WHAT?" James Potter shrieked.

It was an uncomfortably warm spring night, the sun set almost complete, and Peter Pettigrew- 'Wormtail' both to those who liked him and those who didn't- stood almost shaking before his friend. He had just undertaken the extraordinarily difficult task of telling Prongs, the Alpha and the Omega of the Maraduers, as James was known, that Sirius had just sent Snape down to the Womping Willow, possibly to his certain death.

James stared out of the window of Gryffindor Tower, overlooking the Quidditch Pitch, and, ignoring the hustle and bustle of everyone else in the Common Room finishing up with homework and assignments, bolted and ran as fast as his legs would carry him.

_Snivellus was bound to be almost there by now, _he thought alarmingly, _I need to hurry. Drat, Padfoot!_

He skated past a suit of armor so fast that he caused it to spin around and almost fall over. He bumped smack into Professor Flitwick and did not stay to apologize. He nearly slid on the tracks of mud that had been dragged in by the hordes of students earlier in the day. _Faster. _

Finally James had made it to the Entrance Hall, flying past the House hourglasses so fast the colors blurred. He grasped the handle of the heavy front door, pulled it back and-

The bright, glowing orb of the full moon hung large and looming in the sky. As James blew past, it seemed to burn into his soul, white-hot condemnation and anger and blame that this once he could not dissipate…

Why did Snape have to be so nosy? Why couldn't slimy Severus mind his own business, and stay out of theirs? But, of course, he knew it wasn't that simple, not this time.

Sirius, why?

At long last, after what seemed like an eternity, James reached the Willow, and by prodding a stick into what, he knew, was the exact same spot where Snape had done the same, causing the tree's flailing, wrecking branches to still. He raced though the door, down the passageway, and into the tunnel-

He had almost cried out when a horrible, nightmarish sight met his eyes.

It had been too late. He had been too late.

* * *

Snape's body- for it was, they all feared, no more than that now- had been mangled and twisted in a way unnatural for any human, blood on his lips and his cheeks and his chest, blood everywhere and spilling, pooling like out of some Muggle horror film. The werewolf had shattered his right cheekbone, leaving the space hollow and jagged and brittle with bone. If not for the sudden presence of a magnificent stag, his eyes most probably would have been gouged out. Madam Pomfrey did not give him more than a few hours to live; after cleaning him and repairing what she could, she still had not even managed to force any pain reliever down his throat, to at least make the going easier. All she could do now was to cover him up with a white sheet and summon the Headmaster. Dumbledore had arrived swiftly, in a state of complete wrath in which few aside from Grindelwald had seen him, saying nothing but his light blue eyes piercing James Potter in a way he had never been pierced before.

"Leave us," he commanded sharply. Potter was not stupid enough to disobey.

* * *

"PADFOOT!" It was late when James finally made it back to the dormitory, past midnight and Albus Dumbledore still burning in the back of his mind. Sirius was sat on his flaming red bedspread, grinning cheekily and his brown hair flopping about far more gracefully than James'.

"How COULD you?" The boy with the glasses screamed once again. Sirius's expression faded, as if a light inside him had flickered.

"How could you? You told Moony's secret! You told that stupid Snake about Remus's furry little problem and he went after him! Snivellus went after him, Sirius, you dunderhead, and whatever those idiots decide to do with Moony it's YOUR FAULT."

His friend jumped off of the bed as if he had just received an electric shock.

"My fault? Nothing's happed to Moony, James, it's Snivvy who was supposed to get hurt-"

"Well Snape did get hurt! He's the Hospital Wing now, and you know what? He'll probably keel over by morning! And who do you think'll take the rap for it, huh? The nosy git? You? No, you asshat! Remus! Remus. Is. A. Werewolf. Do you'll think they'll let him live if he's bloody killed somebody? Do you think he'll get to stay here?"

Padfoot merely snorted. "Dumble's won't make Moony leave, he's sacrificed too much to get him here! Come on, Prongs, if you'd gone to all that trouble for a bloke, you think you'd just throw him out like-"

But he was stopped short by a fierce slap cutting across his cheek. Potter's eyes were flashing.

"You didn't see him," was all he said smally. It was all he could do to manage to get into bed and pull the hangings around him so that he didn't have to look at the friend who had betrayed Remus.

* * *

Remus woke up, as he normally did this time of month, in the safe, secure whiteness of the Hospital Wing, the curtains pulled tight around him to steel him away from prying eyes and pain coursing through every inch of his body. The drastic reconfiguration of his bones that occurred every transformation was beyond soreness; it was slowly weakening and deteriorating his entire skeleton, of that he was positive. What else could explain it?

He sat up, as he usually did, and tried to stretch. Maybe pull back the curtains, call for Madam Pomfrey…

But before Remus could do any of this, a very distinctive scent hint his unusually sensitive nose.

Blood.

Something had happened last night, something horrible. But what was it? Where were James, Siri, and Peter? What was this insipid odor of impending death?

Remus squirmed, the wolf in him protesting with every fiber of his being at such a stench, yet drawn, inexorably, the smell at once wretched and beautiful, filling him was such disgust and longing as only a man who has been wolf could understand- It was overpowering, overwhelming all that he knew, and before he could do so much as shout for the helpful matron who had always shown him such kindness, everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

Albus Dumbledore was pacing in his office.

The morning light was streaming in through the high windows, glinting off of his many eccentric gadgets and gizmos in dazzling white. It had been a long night- a very, very long night. And against all odds, despite the matron's- and Albus's own- expectations, Severus Snape lived still.

Granted, he had had an extraordinarily painful night; the boy had arisen from his coma at about half past midnight, giving many terrified shrieks and howls so sorrowful and gut-wrenching even the hastily applied Silencing Spells could not detract from the anguish inflicted on any unlucky enough to watch him. Dumbledore had arisen from his chair, slowly, cautiously, knowing that he could do nothing but still hoping that the child would somehow sense his presence. The fretful noises and groans were broken only by Severus's intermittent sobbing and wailing, enough to break the soul even of Voldemort himself. At long last, at about a quarter to one in the morning, Madam Pomfrey together with the Headmaster successfully managed (finally) to get a Pain-Reliever down the aching throat, and try to wipe at the incessantly flowing tears. They watched the rise and fall of Severus's chest with an almost throbbing ache, potent and flowing; never in his life had Dumbledore wished so readily for anyone to die before, but this- this, was among those things that counted as worse than death.

Carefully, as if not daring to upset the now-still, ghost-white frame, he turned to Poppy in her night bonnet and blood-soaked apron, taking in her sunken expression, the exhausted bags under her eyes, her wringing hands. Not glancing at any of the other vacant beds in the wing- with their tight white sheets pulled up and the curtains pulled around- he focused steadily on the ground, as if he were trying to keep his balance. Then, with an almost childlike smallness, he asked, "How much longer?"

Poppy wiped sweat from her brow. "I do not know. Hours- it will be hours."

That was all he needed to hear.

With all the force of an almost raging tycoon, Albus Dumbledore swept from the room in a flowing trail of rage. It was unfair he thought, how very unfair, and yet what could have been done to prevent it? Certainly if the boy died, explanations must be made- provided for the fact that he did not have many of them himself, he was at least confident of one thing: Remus could not be expelled. He could not let Remus be expelled, and it was to that purpose that he had asked Minerva to summon Sirius Black to his office early that morning, before so much as a single footstep had even graced the Great Hall for breakfast. But the waiting. All of this waiting, four o' clock and the dawn not yet breaking, killing, suffocating him, six-thirty and the portraits stirring, selfish and irritated only by his restlessness; seven a.m. and finally, finally, there came a rap on the cold office door.

It was time to get some answers.

* * *

Remus Lupin had joined Snape in the hospital wing. Both were in considerable pain, gnarling, sighing, each unaware of the presence of the other, but only one, after a considerable moment, was able to get still and sit up, greedily drinking the water placed to his lips by Madam Pomfrey. It was after this, and several ugly, coarse breaths, that he was able to get his first good look around. He had expected, of course, that the Hospital Wing would be deserted and empty, but was startled to see an unrecognizable still frame in a bright-white bed at the opposite end of the room. It was so unexpected, in fact, that he almost gasped; but this was prevented by his noticing the uncharacteristically saddened and cold eyes of the Hogwarts matron.

So he was right. Something had happened.

"How- how bad?" he managed quietly.

She did not look at him as she answered, but was busy bustling about him, gathering up empty potions bottles and messing with the bedsheets. "Very bad, I'm afraid. He's hanging on, bless him, but I do not think that he will manage for much longer."

Remus wasn't aware of how his heartbeat had sped up, but now it was almost beating inside of his chest.

"W-who?" It almost did not come out. He half thought he would vomit instead.

The matron sighed again. "The Slytherin boy, Severus Snape."

Suddenly, the whole mystery of the thing had become as clear as daylight; all of a minute, he knew everything that had happened and what his friend had done. What he had done. He needed no more explanations now, but as he shut his eyes again, he thought that he would have preferred to stay in the dark. He didn't notice that his nails were clinging to the side of the mattress so hard that his fingers were going numb; it was this, this small, infantile connection to the physical world, that kept the black darkness of it all from swallowing him alive.

And then, without hesitation, without compunction or dignity, Remus threw up all over his lap.

* * *

"I'm afraid that I do not understand, Mr. Black."

The Headmaster stood with his back to the regretful Gryffindor boy, looking out of his rather well-placed windows with his hands clasped behind his back. This was to attempt to keep his fury at bay. It was also so that he did not have to see the tears lodged in the gray eyes.

"It was just a prank- honest it was! He wasn't actually supposed to get hurt! I swear, I didn't mean-"

"That matters nothing now. What matters now is doing everything in our power to protect Remus Lupin. His secret cannot be discovered- I am determined of that. For now, the only people who know what have occurred last evening down at the Willow include myself, James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, Madam Pomfrey, you, and, if- and I stress if- he awakes with any semblance of being in proper mental capacity, which looks increasingly unlikely, Snape. So-"

A half-upself, half confused look crossed Sirius Black's face, making his expression flicker.

"Remus doesn't know?"

Not moving his hands, no twinkle in his eyes, Dumbledore turned back to his desk, at last facing his student.

"When he wakes, he will know. It will be- difficult, I am sure, to tell him, but I assure you that Madam Pomfrey is more than capable."

Sirius's head sunk so that he appeared to be looking down into his lap.

"He's going to be so angry with me."

No- that was not true, he corrected himself; Remus would not be angry. There had been little time for anger in his already difficult life. No; what Remus would be is disappointed. Disappointed and saddened, and probably scared, and the thought did nothing to bolster Sirius.

"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," Dumbledore went on impatiently, "Our highest priority now is Remus's safety. You will serve detention for the next three months- every night until the end of term. I will personally ensure an owl is sent to you every evening in Gryffindor Tower so as not to attract attention informing you with whom your next punishment is to be served. By the end of the year, you will make this castle spotless. It will gleam and glimmer and look like never before. You will become infinitely familiar with the Forbidden Forest. I will not deny poor Mr. Filch the pleasure of doing with you what he likes. And-" Dumbledore paused here, to ensure that every word he said was clear- "Your first detention will be served here with me tomorrow afternoon. I will expect you to arrive directly after lunch. You will make no detours. You will talk to no one."

With this Dumbledore sat down, careful to make sure that he still was not looking at Sirius. He knew that if he saw the flowing tears, the remorseful face, the pain-filled eyes, that he might lose his nerve.

"You may go," he said, and Sirius turned to leave, but before he could manage it he turned back to the Headmaster, voice choked and hoarse and barely coherent.

"Do you- do you think that Remus'll talk to me? Sir?"

Dumbledore did not look.

"That is his prerogative. You have betrayed his trust, and in the process put him in clear and eminent danger. You caused his worst fear to be realized, and have cost this school one of its students." Sirius was barely holding in his sobs. Anguish and remorse wracked through him. "I would not blame him if he never spoke to you again. Go."

Sirius's shaking hand was on the handle of the door this time, but before he could open it, Dumbledore had spoken again.

"Oh, Mr. Black? If my worst predilections are realized- and my worst fears, as well as Master Lupin's- come to pass; if that child dies, with you alone responsible, then I will expect you to spend the summer with his parents. It will take a lot of time to explain after all."

Sirius did not have it in him to respond.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I'm excited to share this one with y'all- it really is yours and not mine. It's a culmination of all the suggestions and advice I have heard since last chapter. I hope you enjoy, and please let me know if you do! **

He left the Headmaster's office with his head hung, the heavy lead-filled voice ringing in his head and yet the memory of it such a blur he could barely recall what was said. Sirius took no notice of the way that the gargoyle guarding the office snarled at him, the way people were shooting him strange looks, as if by looking at his sad eyes they could glean what had happened; he did not even see the now nearly empty glass hourglass with barely any rubies remaining. The whispers persisted as he passed the Entrance Hall, but breakfast seemed like such a long-ago thing now, something for people to partake in when they are young and innocent and not in pain. He no longer seemed either of those things.

How could he have done it? How could he have hurt Remus that way-

The memories came like a cold, clear flood. Remus shying away from them when he, Prongs and Wormy had confronted him in second year about his condition, the way he hid his prematurely scarred face in his hands and backed away as if he were some dirty, deranged animal-

The pouring over the stolen Transfiguration books, more difficult than anything any of the seventh years had ever done before, that very thought giving them almost as much of a rush of exhilaration and inspiration as the thought of how they would be able to help their disenfranchised friend.

Waking up with Remus in the Hospital Wing, a giant grin for the first time drawing on his face…

Sirius hadn't even realized the way that his wandering mind had automatically drug him in that direction. He had to explain himself to Remus, had to explain, make any possible excuse in the world so that he wouldn't hate him- He burst through the door, barely able to control the overpowering, dominating urge to see his friend, just as reckless and ill-timed and with as poor a judgement with which he had performed the act that had landed them in this situation in the first place.

Nothing in the entire world could have prepared him for what he saw.

In his regret at his betrayal of Remus, his ache and hurt at losing his friend, his eagerness to help him and make up for the pain for what he had caused him, he had forgotten the cause for Remus's anguish- the hated, battered, abused boy with greasy nasty hair and nastier friends, laying comatose and unresponsive and, worse, writhing and seething. Well, Severus Snape had always been seething.

Remus was crying. Ugly, mucose-filled, guttural cries that went to the bottom of Sirius's soul. He was sitting on the edge of the git's bed, staring down at him with an intense and suffocating look, and it broke Sirius to the ground. But nothing broke him so much as the words that came from the cracked and half-choked voice.

"I should have stopped them! I should have stopped them. The way they treated you…" A sob. Or a sigh? "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Snape. I know we never really got along- and how could we, with James and Siri going around like they own the place and making it such a hell for you? But I am. I'm sorry. If I could go back-" Definitely a sob. "I know you won't forgive me. I don't even know if you can. I won't either. But it doesn't change that I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." And there it was. The scars that for so long had made Remus so beautiful were covered once again by the aged and worn hands. It was utterly- breathtaking.

Sirius backed out of the room without saying a single word.

* * *

What the tired boy found on his way back to the Gryffindor dormitories, which required him to walk yet again past Dumbledore's office, left him no more speechless than the exhausting scene he'd just witnessed. Coming down the stairs, emerging from the stone gargoyle with her head bowed as if she had just received a death sentence, was a hunched, dark-haired and obsidian eyed woman who scowled when she saw the approaching Gryffindor teen, and Sirius did not doubt for a single second who she was.

Snape's mother.

He almost, for a fraction of a millisecond, sneered- how could Snape have a mother when snakes were clearly hatched from eggs like slime-demons- but he had lost the ability to finish thoughts like this in the past twenty-four hours. She looked at him and stopped.

She expected him to say something. Sirius squirmed.

"Er… Mrs. Snape?"

She paused for a long moment before she spoke. "You have killed my son."

Sirius's mouth fell open.

"I almost did not come. Albus Dumbledore did not consider it important to inform me that my only child is on the verge of meeting his maker, it seems."

Her eyes examined him like Sirius imagined dementors examined their victims just before they Kissed them, and it was almost as chilling.

"Why you are not expelled is utterly beyond me."

She went to move past him, and he could not help it; it was a gut instinct almost as much as it had been to protect Remus. Sirius Black flinched.

It was not shaping up to be a good day.

* * *

Sirius spent the day in such a haze that he did not even go to the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff Quidditch game to see Prongs win. He went back to his dormitory after classes and fell asleep without any of the other Marauders there to bother him and missed dinner. He only left his room when he decided that it would be impossible for him to stay there any longer, and ran into Albus Dumbledore outside of the Owlery, where apparently the Headmaster had been sending out a fairly important notice.

"It is good to find you here," he informed Sirius. "I was just about to volunteer one of your many friends to go and fetch you to accompany me to the Hospital Wing, but it seems I have been spared the trouble."

"But, sir, I-"

Dumbledore did not reply but continued walking down the cobblestone steps, leaving Sirius no choice but to follow. It was a dreary walk, but that was nothing compared to the atmosphere of the Hospital Wing when they entered it.

Remus was there. He was standing by Snape's mum, and when he moved too close to her it was impossible not to notice how she jerked away like he was a pile of so much bilge. It was enough to make Sirius open his mouth as if to say something in criticism, but he was stopped when his eyes took in the seemingly no-longer-still figure on the blindingly white bed.

His eyes were open. Snape's eyes had flashed open, and the sight of them cut in to Sirius like so many hot knifes. His palms were laid on the blanket laid over him, clenching open and closed like some disturbed spirit had possessed him, teeth chattering like mad as if he had been dumped in the middle of the Arctic. He was disgusting and gross, covered in his own sweat and stringy hair flung over his forehead, captivating and horrifying as each wracking shudder made him cough, sometimes bringing up phlegm, sometimes not.

The sight of him made Sirius shiver.

Things remained this way for over an hour, the three outsiders and intruders watching as the mother hung onto her son's hands as if begging him to stay, as if she would never get to do so again. This was made all the worse when she did not cry but encouraged him in a slow but commanding and steady voice to return to her.

"I cannot endure this, Severus."

"You know I will not return by myself."

"When you are a bit better, I will make you my best and hardiest chowder. I know how you like it."

"Speak, my child."

"I am sorry."

It was only the last of these that seemed to stir up such objection and dissention in the near paralyzed but observant patient.

"Mum…" It was whispered as if it took all of Severus's strength to even mutter it, and it made his mother clutch his hand all the tighter for that.

"You don't have anything to be sorry for," he said.

Eileen took her other hand to brush the fringe off of his face and began to quietly stroke his forehead. His eyelashes were fluttering but there was no longer any blood crusted in them making them stick together.

"Oh, my brave lad. But I do."

He shook his head vigorously, but she shushed him instead.

Slowly, but without hesitation or resistance on the part of her son, she pressed cold and damp lips to his forehead, and it made him gasp. She pulled the blankets up around him in an attempt to made him as comfortable as possible.

"I love you, Severus."

"I love you too, Mum."

She brushed his forehead one last time. She felt his hand spasm in her palm for the briefest of time, at the same time the onlookers saw his eyes shut. They did not open again.

Heaving a great sigh, a single cold and hollow tear fell from Eileen's cheek.

It was at this precise moment that they were interrupted by a vibrant, vivacious and beautiful red-headed girl, and Lily Evans burst into the Hospital Wing like so many stampeding wildebeests, taking in the scene with wide and bloodshot eyes.

"No!" she screamed.

"No- Severus, no!" And she fell before anyone could catch her, the only one there who was now a mess of tears and snot and clenched teeth, unable it seemed to regain control of herself until the Headmaster helped her to stand and approach the bed where her late friend lay. She ran a finger down his cheek, as she used to do when she had inadvertently caught him crying, and the memory of it almost made her chuckle in spite of herself.

Sirius did not know what to do. He did not even know what to think, but stood open-mouthed like an scaly codfish until he felt a firm, long-fingered hand grasp his shoulder. It was Dumbledore's.

It seemed that he would be joining the Snapes this summer after all.


	4. Chapter 4

Needless to say, Sirius's time at the Snape home was not anything that he expected.

It was a wet and windy day when he and Mrs. Snape arrived in Spinner's End. The narrow, cobblestoned street was unlike anything he had seen before. It was old and cranky and dusty, and in that moment he could understand why the woman next to him was also so. She dragged him along like some pitiful deranged puppy on a leash , down into the cold and suffocating air and through the front door.

As Sirius imagined, Snape's father was furious; he was a tall, buff and wore his cruelty on his muscles and his pain in his eyes. He was sitting back in his armchair, permanent scowl on his face and beer cans at his feet, but he stood when the teenager came in- the wrong teenager, one also small and dark-haired and gangly but still, not the one meant to be returning- and met the gray and distant eyes with an intensity only a true Snape could manage.

He did not address him.

"I don't know why we had to hole this one up after he's bloody done gone and killed my boy." The voice was gruff and hard as to make it obvious that Tobias was a heavy smoker. It was hard to listen to. His eyes, too, were hard to look at; it wasn't so much that they were x-raying you as that they gave you the overwhelming feeling that you were not worth x-raying. Sirius threw down his bag, and when it hit the crusty wood floors a ring of dust flew up around his head.

Sirius did not think he could face Severus's father- until he actually had to.

Eileen did not respond to her husband. She flopped down on the raggedy armchair and did not look at anything. Her eyes were dead. "You'd best be getting upstairs and outa Toby's site before he decides jail wouldn't be so horrible after all," she said after a moment. "Sev's room'll be the one at the top of the stairs. Stay put till I tell you."

The usually rebellious Gryffindor seemed in no mood any longer to question such authority. He'd never actually been in a Muggle house before, and all of it seemed both eerie and fascinating. While it true there were no pictures of wrinkled old aunts screaming incredible obscenities or house elf heads mounted on the walls- Sirius knew better than to think a house elf had ever set foot in the place- the intensely narrow, dark staircase seemed to be in the strategic position of making sure he didn't get it into his head that this "home" would be any more welcoming.

The last thing Sirius wanted to do was sleep in Snivellus's old bedroom. His stomach squirmed as he kept thinking about the reason the room's owner would never again return to it; it was a sparse room, it was true. Just a wire bed and tawdry, thin covers with holes in them. Sirius sneered. Couldn't Snivellus do better than this? Didn't the boy he'd hideously abused for years have more than this? The gnawing feeling in his stomach only intensified as he noticed the pile of abandoned school textbooks stashed under the window. He wasted no time pulling the ratty blanket from the bed and throwing it, abandoned, to the floor. He was a little disturbed to find that the sheet underneath had holes in it too. But he laid down anyway, trying desperately no to cry.

He didn't make it very long.

Mrs. Snape did not call Sirius for dinner that night. He stayed shut up in that room, curtains pulled horribly tight, and tried not to think about anything. At one point he even imagined that he fell asleep. When he woke up, it was dark outside, and he was surprised to discover that there were no streetlamps outside. Everything was pitch black. His calves itched, as if fleas had bitten them.

Still he did not remove himself from the room.

"Boy! Come! This ain't no bloody bed and breakfast, ya ungrateful swine!"

Sirius groaned and rolled over. It couldn't yet have been six 'o clock in the morning. But even he knew that voice was not to be disobeyed.

Tobias Snape towered over him as he gave him the day's instructions. Don't backtalk. No whinging. Don't be a lazy bugger. Sirius was meant, of course, to help Mrs. Snape around the house, cooking and dusting and polishing, while Tobias went off to the mill for that day's work. The teenager gulped as the frightening man left the house, hoping desperately that not all Muggles were like that.

"Is he always like that?" He found the courage to ask after a minute. Severus's mother stood next to him, arms folded over her chest like the lumpy blanket he had been eager to discard the previous day, her mouth a serious and straight line. She did not answer, but merely inclined her head, beaconing him to follow.

Housecleaning was not all it was cracked up to be, he thought. That day was a difficult. Folding sheets, pressing and ironing clothes. It was hard not being able to use magic. But the worse part, of course, was that he spent all day stuck with _her_. Severus's mother. God forbid he left a crease or speck of dust in the wrong place- then, then it was her eyes staring and probing and judging, squinting the way they had always squinted and looked at him-

There where several times that day where Sirius had to stop and catch his breath. At lunchtime he went back upstairs. He was trying to escape, he wanted to do anything to escape. But that bedroom was no escape. There were more tears. There were always more tears.

He would not have come back downstairs, not even for lunch, but he thought that he heard a very familiar voice coming from the kitchen. It was Professor McGonagall.

"I just came to see how it was going," she was saying.

"We don't want him here. We never asked to have him here." Sirius didn't have to see her to know that her arms were still crossed. McGonagall sighed.

"I know. I know. But Dumbledore thought it would give him time to think about what he'd-"

"Think about what he's done? By taking food from our mouths? By making Toby go crazier than normal? By sleeping in our dead son's bed? Why would that senile old man think this was a good idea?"

It was half an hour before his Transfiguration teacher found him locked in the bathroom.

"Mr. Black? Mr. Black?" She pounded on the door, and pounded, but got no answer. She heard him sobbing.

"Why am I here? Why do I have to stay here?" And the tears kept flowing.

She did not answer.

"I didn't mean it! I never meant it! I never meant him to _die_!" And kept flowing. It was almost as horrible and gut wrenching as listening to one of Lupin's transformations.

Mrs. Snape left. She did not come back until after supper.


	5. Chapter 5

"Mr. Black, you must understand," Minerva tried, attempting (to little avail) to comfort the distressed teen. She was crouched on the bathroom floor next to him, hoping beyond hope to be able to make her escape before Tobias's return. Severus's father had always given her a creepy, chilly feeling.

"Mister Snape was a very distressed boy. I do not think he had one single friend at Hogwarts besides Lily Evans. Now that you have seen the pitiful kind of life he led, and how miserable he was, how is it to be lamented that he has gone somewhere better?"

Sirius sniffled in response to this, sitting up a little straighter on the floor, his back against the peeling, sickly wall. He wiped his nose with his sleeve, causing his teacher to grimace and hand him a handkerchief.

"What about Remus?" His eyes were wide like saucers. "What about my friend? He'll go to jail, I know it! He'll take the rap for my mistake. Who knows what they'll do to him and it will be my fault! What am I going to do?"

Minerva could not help it; a frown creased the corners of her mouth. He hadn't been upset about Severus at all!

"you need not fret, Mr. Black. I assure you Professor Dumbledore has done everything possible to keep the true nature of Mr. Snape's death a secret. Madam Pomfrey has even ruled it an accident, I believe. No one else even knows that he was involved."

Sirius breathed a sigh of relief. "That's good," he said. He blew his nose again. His gray eyes darted quickly around the cold, dust-covered room. It looked like it hadn't been cleaned in ages, as if it was some cake that had been left out in the sun until the icing melted and ran down in clumps. He wondered who had lived here before the Snape's.

"It really was wretched, the way he lived, wasn't it?" Beside him, Professor McGonagall nodded. Maybe she was right- how could he feel sorry Snivellus was gone? Hadn't he and James had said for ages this is what the nasty git deserved? Now that he'd gotten what he'd had coming to him, there was no reason to be upset about it. After all, not even his own parents seemed to miss him; he knew that despite their anger, there had not been much difference in the level of tension in the house since he had gone, that somehow, things had always been this way and always would be, with or without the unwanted, unnamed someone else to get in the way.

Standing to her feet, Minerva held out a hand to help Sirius rise as well. He did, wiping his face one final time before handing the handkerchief back to her. She grimaced again and shook her head.

* * *

Sirius laid in the bastard's bed later that night, curled up on his side and trying to ignore the flies now buzzing around his head. He was attempting to listen for Mrs. Snape's return, but as the minutes turned to hours and the night drew into day, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. He knew that after what he had taken from her, she couldn't see him anymore; as if to see him was to be reminded of all the things she had not seen before, that inexorable connection she had severed herself long before Sirius ever entered the picture, of the part of herself that she wanted to go but could not die as long as he remained.

He thought of Remus, the horrible guilt he must be feeling even though there was nothing to feel guilty about. His stomach now jumped. How he wanted to talk to him again- just one last time, just to apologize again, just to know he was alright.

As light began to stream in through the window, he decided he couldn't lay awake there anymore and got up to examine the pile of books Mrs. Snape had brought home from her son's dorm. Most of them were school textbooks. Sirius picked up the Potions one and began to leaf through it, surprised to find scribbles and markings in that neat, cramped writing he had despised so much. He almost couldn't breathe.

Snape had invented his own spells.

And not just any spells. Many of them were ones Sirius recognized, ones Snape had used against them when the Marauders were in hot pursuit and he had nowhere else to run. Some were quite nasty; he ran across the spell that had left a gash on James's cheek that day by the lake, and the toenail hex that had caused Sirius himself to trip and lose his wand as he chased Snape through the halls. Now he smiled at the memory; that's all it was now. He had no idea Snape had been so… well, not smart, exactly, but not a bumbling idiot like he'd always thought either.

Vowing to come back the book later and see what useful things he could take, Sirius headed downstairs.

His suspicion had been right. Severus's mother was gone.

Tobias was glaring.

* * *

The next morning was Snape's funeral. It was a quiet one, as cold and dark like the person it was for. Few people were there. Remus walked in calmly, facing straight ahead and using all of his might not to look at Sirius, scars covering his beautiful face like lines in a mesmerizing impressionist painting, not even a tear breaking the horrid blankness in his face. James was not there. Lily was balling, red hair tangled in her face like she had just stepped off the Quidditch pitch.

Of the Hogwarts staff, only Albus Dumbledore and Horace Slughorn made an appearance, Slughorn blowing his nose like a foghorn and telling everyone he spoke to that it was "unfortunate indeed" and that Severus had been "a talented boy and one of his best students."

As if, Sirius grinned to himself. Slughorn had to come because he had been Snape's Head of House; that was all.

Tobias sat silently in the church pew, looking mean as ever. A few of his mates had come, but not many. It was clear that they were used to seeing each other in dirty pubs and bars, and not sacred religious buildings. No one was even dressed up. There was no music.

Dumbledore got up and said a few words, which were fairly meaningless as far as the people in there were concerned. Some drivel about Severus being a good student and having a lot of potential, whatever that meant. If all your own Headmaster can say about you was that you could pass a stupid test, you probably wouldn't have amounted to much anyway. This made Sirius feel a little better, but only a little.

Tobias said nothing. Made no noise and shed no tears, just… watching, like his only son's funeral wasn't of much interest to him. It probably wasn't.

A few people asked him about Mrs. Snape, but he never answered them; and after Dumbledore was done speaking he came up to Sirius and asked him the same thing, in a low voice that was the most menacing Sirius had ever heard.

"Where is Severus's mother?"

Sirius shivered.

"I don't know," he whispered.

Dumbledore glared. It was the most frightening thing Sirius had ever seen in his life.

"Remus needs to know. Where is Severus's mother?"

Sirius just shook his head, feeling helpless.

"I don't know," he whispered. "I don't know."


End file.
